The Betting Pool
by The Periodic Table of Converse
Summary: "If there were to be one thing Fawty Bluekin could say she was good at, it was the Hunger Games." / A short little thing peeking into the mind of a Capitol citizen. One-shot, please review. An early Christmas present for you guys! Ranges from the 50th to the 74th Hunger Games.


If there were to be one thing Fawty Bluekin could say she was good at, it was the Hunger Games. Not the actual 'Mortal Combat' type thing, and being a tribute, and learning to survive against twenty three other people who were desperate to go home or be rich. She couldn't tough out a missing eyeball or a stab wound in her arm or a concussion. She couldn't even think of not eating, not having water at her beck and call, and being unable to sleep on account of there are people out to kill you… mercilessly.

The Districts were nasty, and who wanted to catch smelly fish or work in a power plant or lay train tracks or care for grain or cows or mine dusty coal when they could always sip wine and gossip and buy fancy little nothings?

And she definitely, no matter what, would run around like an untrained baboon. Nuh-uh, not in these heels, thank you very much.

No, Fawty was a proper lady, born and raised in the very center of the Capitol, among other proper ladies and gentlemen.

Therefore no, Fawty was not good at the _Hunger_ Games. She was good at the Hunger _Games_, or, that is to say, the gaming part of the Hunger Games.

Surprised? Well, the Capitol couldn't let all the tributes have the fun, could they?

There was always a plethora of bets circulating amongst the excited crowd and, of course, around the confident hands.

And Fawty Bluekin always seemed to come out on top of these bets.

She was forty five years old the year of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. This made her 21 the year of the second Quarter Quell, and the twist was sweet and made the Games a challenge even for the most experienced better.

Double the tributes, double the fun. So many chances for a Career District to take home the prize. The popular choice seemed to be the girl from District One, a ruthless, golden-haired girl by the name of Sapphire Brim, whose weapon of choice was an axe.

But Fawty saw something in the rugged sixteen year old with the dark hair and the steely eyes. The only thing was, he was from District Twelve, who had only had a single Victor before, and that was mostly by accident.

The people of the Capitol laughed when she, as a first-timer to the betting pools, put in over half of her life's savings on the Twelve boy, Haymitch Abernathy.

Nobody was laughing two weeks and three days later, when the only humans remaining in the Arena were Haymitch and the bloodied, one-eyed corpse of Sapphire Brim, the axe still buried six inches deep in the front of her chest.

The legacy of Fawty Bluekin began that year.

So you could say that Fawty was good at the Hunger Games.

She claimed that it would be the young Finnick O'Dair, a fourteen year old boy with a strong physique, to come out on top.

She bet that it would be Beetee, the nerdy teenager from District Three whose last name was easily forgettable, to win.

She had decided that it would be the sniveling tribute with the training score of a measly three from District Seven, Johanna Mason, to rise up from the ranks and survive.

She had said that it would be the tribute-gone-crazy, Annie Cresta, from Four.

In fact, she had correctly predicted every other single Victor for twenty three years of her life.

And then the next year came, and it was time for the 74th Games.

OoO

Fawty had watched the Reapings three times, rewinding some segments and pausing at just the right seconds, a look of concentration screwed tightly onto her face.

Then she carefully wrote down her guess, folded up the slip, and sealed it inside of an envelope just like every other year before this one.

And then she turned it in to the people running the betting pool this year, and walked away with a tight feeling inside.

Because it seemed that this year was not her year. A Volunteer from Twelve? Unheard of. Never before seen.

Fawty figured she was tough, taking her sister's place in a fight to the death.

But Cato looked to be a shoo in.

Or possibly the boy from Eleven, Thresh.

But Fawty hadn't written down Cato or Thresh or even Katniss Everdeen. Oh no, Fawty Bluekin had done something unheard of.

For the first time since Fawty ever started betting on the Hunger Games, she was unsure. She couldn't see the Victor clearly, not if she feared the power the government held against her. There was only one guess, one whose possibility percentage was less than winning the lottery.

And yet she still believed that she was right.

oOo

When the Victors were announced, there was not a single person in the Capitol (not one who was participating in the bettings anyway) who was happy with the outcome.

Not one… Except for Fawty.

When her envelope was opened, there was not a single jaw that had not dropped. For written on her slip of paper was this:

_Katniss Everdeen is going to save Peeta Mellark, and Peeta Mellark is going to save Katniss Everdeen._

Fawty didn't know how, and she didn't know why, but she had guessed based on the look on Peeta Mellark's face when they shook hands back in Twelve, at the Reaping.

And in the surprise in Katniss Everdeen's eyes.

That somehow, they would find a way to save each other.

And they did.

oOo

Never let it be said that Fawty Bluekin was bad at the Hunger Games.

She has a twenty four year streak – and counting.

She can't wait until next year. It's a Quarter Quell, right? Something interesting is bound to happen.

**A/N: My apologies. I have no idea what an actual betting pool is like.**

**Also, this is my Christmas gift to you guys, this short and sucky little drabble that I'm not even proof-reading, because you are all amazing, and you at least deserve something. Please review for me, as a Christmas present to me in return! (Although reviews will probably be much better than this.)**

**Love y'all!**

_**EDIT 12.27.13: So I did finally proofread it… Wow, embarrassing. It's better now, and I added like, a hundred fifty words, so hurrah! Reviewers make me happy.**_

**tPToC**


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